This giddily insouciant and hopefully risible treatise was penned as I was unknowingly perched on the very precipice of falling gravely ill and nearly being shipped home from Italy in a pine box (which is only slightly less comfortable than Economy). That will be the subject of my next bravely jocular but tear-inducing column. Stay tuned, but keep those hankies at the ready.

It’s been nearly four months, and still, several times a day, it feels like a rat is trying to gnaw it’s way out of my belly. I’m still craving the instant hit of nicotine that was my constant companion for nearly 50 years.

Finally, after a long, cold winter, I’m coming up for airto a bright spring promisinga musical overload. Perfect weather, indeed, for enjoying Fergus Hambleton at Hugh’s Room on Wednesday, where he showcased his sunny signature sound and new CD “Written on the Wind. “

And partly because cigarettes now cost more than a box of Fruit Loops and a quart of milk, and you can’t smoke them anywhere without risking pneumonia or heatstroke.

One of the reasons for this is straight from the Canadian Government’s crack You Can’t Raise Your Own Kids, Look After Yourself, Or Know What’s Good For You Without Our Help panel of suits, ties, and myopic visionaries.